


Taster of the Corpse Sea

by Cormack_the_Crow



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Body Horror, Canon-Typical The End Content (The Magnus Archives), Canon-Typical The Flesh Content (The Magnus Archives), Evisceration, Eye Trauma, Good news folks! I am apparently the first person to use that tag, Literally it is birds eating people I do not know how to tag that any other way, No beta we die like we're in an End fear domain, Original Statement (The Magnus Archives), The End Fear Domain (The Magnus Archives), The End Fear Entity (The Magnus Archives), The Flesh Fear Domain (The Magnus Archives), The Flesh Fear Entity (The Magnus Archives), season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:02:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28905300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cormack_the_Crow/pseuds/Cormack_the_Crow
Summary: Jon and Martin enter a new fear domain and discover that not all avatars are humans, or even began that way. (In other words, we take Mr. Sims' definition of a person as a creature capable of 'dick moves' and say 'certainly ravens can be avatars. As a treat.'.)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 6





	Taster of the Corpse Sea

**Author's Note:**

> Still in the process of cleaning my warmup document. Told you I write horror! The title is an Old Norse kenning for ravens because I am only marginally creative. Enjoy! Or don't! I can't control your life.
> 
> EDIT (several weeks after the fact): Hey, are you a horror writer? Are you a fan of TMA? If the answer is no to the latter, I have to wonder what you're doing here. Anyways, I started a discord server for TMA horror writers! You can write either original or fanfiction, doesn't matter to me. Drop by and say hello! https://discord.gg/yeyFPm7TR2

The first thing Martin noticed was the snow. The domains they’d passed through before had been explorations in grayscale, with the occasional pop of red blood. Hospital off-whites, factory grays, forest brown-blacks, but never truly white. Nothing so brilliantly certain as the crunch of white snow under his boots. His breath came in puffs of silver steam. “Whose domain is this? The Abominable Snowman?” he joked, drawing closer to Jon.

Jon shivered in the cold. “Flesh. Corruption. End. Any or all of them, it doesn’t matter to the birds.” He eyed the steel-gray sky and shook his head. “Let’s just stick to the path.”

The domain didn’t look like the Flesh and Corruption realms they’d passed, but the End made sense. The Lonely, even. Martin was tempted to ask what he meant about ‘the birds’, but if the past month (week? Year? Day?) had taught him anything, it was to not question the apocalypse. Best to keep your head down, avoid finding out more than you needed to know, and keep going. A familiar _quork, quork, quork_ echoed through the freezing air. Martin frowned as he tried to place the call. Some kind of bird, he knew that much. A crow? No, that wasn’t it. Crows went _caw_. This was—

“Ravens!” Jon hissed. He grabbed Martin’s arm and yanked him under the skeletal canopy of a nearby tree as the sky exploded with motion. A hundred black birds blotted out the midwinter sun. The rasp of feathers mixed with croaks and clicks in a cacophony that seemed out of place in the pristine forest. As quickly as they had erupted from the trees, however, they disappeared over the horizon.

“I don’t think they can hurt us,” Jon admitted as they returned to the path, “but better safe than sorry.” He watched a few straggling ravens catch up with their flock. His lips tightened into a grimace. “Actually, do you mind if…?”

Martin sighed. “Behind a tree, if you don’t mind. Sound carries.” He already knew it wouldn’t be enough. He could cover his ears and hum and Jon’s voice would still be crystal clear. It was as if the universe wanted him to hear. Maybe it did.

Still, Jon nodded and picked his way through the bare-limbed trees. He stopped at the very edge of Martin’s line of sight, a nice, runnable distance. Getting separated wasn’t an option.

Martin turned away and tried not to listen as Jon begun.

_Carol had always hated the bloody birds. Who could blame her, really? Her father had shot at them any time they got close to the lambs. “They’ll peck their eyes right out and leave them for the dead,” he’d grumble after they’d scattered. She had been too young to think of her lambs with red and black sockets where their big brown eyes should be. She pictured the black birds tearing through their sides, staining white wool red, and hot tears ran down her cheeks. Ever since she’d tossed rocks at every raven she saw._

_But she could have sworn they followed her. Even when she moved off the farm they were there, huddled on the sides of roads, tearing pink chunks from badgers and stray dogs. It was too late for what they were eating, but each stone staved off another desecration from those thick bills. She would swallow the bile rising in her throat and cover the body with whatever dirt smudged newspaper or pile of leaf litter that could at least hide it from their shining eyes._

_There were no stones now. Carol lay in the snow drift. Pain had long ago been replaced by frozen numbness. She couldn’t lift her neck to see, but she could feel the final traces of warmth trickle out from her open stomach. Time stretched out before her as she waited for the birds she could never avoid. It had been a long time. She couldn’t escape their notice forever._

Quork. _If she could have moved at all her hands would have curled into fists. She’d woken up to that sound so often before, dreading finding another sheep with its organs spread out in a halo around it. Her own blood dripped into the snow._

_The first one arrived in a whisper of wings. It stood behind her, the snow shifting ever so slightly under its taloned feet. It was behind her, then beside her. It leaned forward and let out three resounding calls, its throat distended and feathers puffed into a mane. It looked her in the eyes as if to remind her that the rest would be by soon._

_It walked the length of her, sizing up its next meal. She could feel it prod her leg with its beak, but couldn’t kick it away. It strolled back to her midsection, perusing the red gash. Tentatively, it grabbed a section of her intestine and pulled. She wanted to cry out as it dropped it back down, but her throat remained stubbornly closed. Warmth spread where the twisted viscera fell. The raven pulled again, unfurling carefully compacted intestines into thick, shining ropes._

_The rest came in a screaming, groaning mass. They surrounded her as the first separated what was once part of her stomach in a moment of brilliant pain. They jostled and called and shoved for the best spots at her side. Beaks scraped her still inflating lungs. Claws dug into her still beating heart._

_Her father had been wrong, she knew now._

_They always left the eyes._

Martin shuddered. _Try not to think about it_ , he told himself, already knowing that he wouldn’t be able to. When they got back to London he’d steer clear of the Tower. “All done?” he asked as Jon returned looking both more alive and more wary of movement in the trees.

Jon nodded. “Fairly short today. Let’s head out.”

Their footsteps echoed as they walked. Martin found himself scanning the white ground for red, pink, anything to indicate where Carol or the other victims of this place might have been. The domain couldn’t be just for her. Did it have an avatar? Then again, whose grand vision would be a quiet forest? Even if Jon were to do his whole ‘ceaseless watcher’ routine, would it even get rid of the ravens? Martin squeezed his eyes shut and willed the questions away. Not now. They’d get to London and they’d fix this. No point worrying now.

The steps grew louder as they walked. No, that couldn’t be right. Maybe he was hearing things. Then again… “Are there any people here?” he asked.

“Other than the victims, you mean?” Jon replied. “I don’t think so. I can’t See any, at least.”

He would accept the answer if it weren’t for the fact that there were now three distinct sets of steps. “Alright, but you can hear them, can’t you?”

As if in response, a figure emerged from the woods a hundred or so paces down. They turned, and without a hint of recognition began walking towards the two men. Martin stopped dead, throwing his arm out to stop Jon as well. “Jon,” he warned.

He needn’t continue. Jon looked as confused as Martin felt. His brow furrowed as he watched the figure grow closer. “That’s odd,” Jon murmured.

Martin was tempted to point out just how much of an understatement that was, but decided to keep his focus on the person. It was a young woman, hair falling to her shoulders and just brushing the outside of her winter jacket. A raven the size of a small eagle perched on her bent arm. Another dove from a nearby branch and landed on her shoulder. Still, her gaze remained squarely on her feet. The raven on her shoulder ran its beak through her hanging hair. Both birds fixed their cold, knowing gazes on them.

No hope of escaping notice now, he supposed. “Is that the avatar?” he asked.

“The person? No. The ravens run this domain.”

“Like the ants,” Martin said, shuddering at the memory. If he never saw another glittering carapace, it would be too soon.

“Is someone there?” the woman called. Her voice was hoarse, but she didn’t sound afraid so much as confused. The raven on her arm puffed out its feathers and shook off white snowflakes.

“Not like the ants,” Jon continued, quieter now. “The ravens chose. I couldn’t turn this against them if I tried.”

“I can hear you, you know,” the woman added. “My name is Hitomi. What’s yours?”

“Should we tell her?” Martin asked. Part of him hoped that Jon would say yes, that they would talk and discover she was one other good person in this horrible world. Perhaps they could even help her in some way, get her out of the endless forest. Another, more suspicious part of him hoped he would say no. They hadn’t exactly had luck making friends thus far.

“I—I don’t know. I don’t know who she is,” Jon stammered.

“Maybe they can’t hear me,” Hitomi told one of the ravens. “You’re not going to eat them, are you?” She stroked its head with one finger. It leaned into the touch, opening its mouth in what almost looked like a smile. “Yeah, you’ve got enough already. Plus, you wouldn’t eat anyone who _talks_.” The raven let out a series of low knocking sounds, like a marble rolling down stairs.

“I don’t think we have a choice,” Martin said before he could regret it. “I’m Martin! What is this place?” He waved, but only the ravens seemed to notice.

Jon shot him a glance Martin couldn’t quite read before replying. “I’m the Ar—Jon. You can call me Jon.”

Hitomi’s shoulders dropped in relief. She closed the distance between them in a few hurried steps. It was a surprise she didn’t sink into the snow. “You are real! Sorry, it’s just after all this time—I mean, the ravens are good company, but I haven’t spoken to people in so long.” She brushed her dark hair from in front of her eyes and—

Why was Martin surprised at this point? Even Jon gave a soft “oh” as she uncovered empty sockets ringed with rust-brown blood. Her bottom lids sagged while the top ones hung like curtains. Only a sliver of black showed between the two. He pictured Melanie for only a moment before pushing the thought away. So that’s why Jon couldn’t see her. Spared from the Eye, at least.

“Oh,” Hitomi said, her smile falling into a frown. “It’s the eyes, isn’t it?” She reached up with her free arm, touching the lid. It yielded far too easily. A worm of nausea crawled through Martin's stomach.

The raven on her shoulder leaned forward. Black eyes regarded Martin not with fear, or rage, but curiosity. Its feathers shone like an oil slick in the pale winter light. Even knowing what it did here, it was beautiful. He wanted to reach out and touch it, but knew better. It pulled back and cocked its head.

“Sorry,” Martin said. He couldn’t bring himself feel guilty for his reaction, but he did feel bad for her. “Did you…?” He didn’t even know how to finish the sentence.

“I gave them to the ravens,” she explained, her voice soft. “They were hungry. I think they like me now.” The raven on her arm gave a croak of what Martin assumed was agreement. “You could do it too, if you want. They won’t hurt you unless you’re already dead. Well, dead enough.”

One last chance. One last door, held open too late. A wry smile tugged at his lips. “No, afraid I can’t. We have places to be.”

She nodded, and soon the forest was silent except for the crunch of snow and the quiet _quork_ of a raven taking its fill.


End file.
